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| Ken Lee, thank you for the sky I couldn't capture. |
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Having just (recently) gone on and on about Los Angeles and its irregular cold, mentioning the wintery sky, etc., etc., the sun set last night in blazing stripes that suggested paradise, right here at home. Unable to leap out and snap my own photo, the art I found on-line is an exact color match.
Every day, possibly every moment if I thought quickly enough, I could find reminders of why, in spite of how relentlessly it labors, despair does not win. Because there are poets, because roses bloom, because my son assures me he would know if I had been turned into a pod person overnight and would run, were that the case.
Because the contents of Frida Kahlo's undiscovered closet are considered art and a window into her unique being.
Because Tom Waits says the clouds are like headlines on a new front page sky.
